Yesterday I mentioned that the reason the Kiwi flights were delayed another 24 hours was because of “communications problems.” We later learned that a solar storm was causing solar flares that have been interfering with the HF radio signal, and that was why the Kiwis stayed grounded. Americans will fly with Iridium phones as a backup communications device, but the Kiwis will not. The new, cruel joke around town has become “What kind of bird doesn’t fly? A Kiwi Bird.” Get it?

Upon learning about the solar flares, we did some research online to see if we could find a solar forecast for Friday. The one we found, from NOAA, predicted flares to be about 4-5 times more likely than the ones that delayed the KZM-007 flight from CHC. “Just great,” I thought. The weather finally turns nice again and another storm knocks us out – 92 million miles away.

With that in mind, I awoke this morning feeling a bit pessimistic about our chances. Getting my hopes up each morning to check the flight information channel only to be let down day after day has taken its toll. However, the scroll showed KZM-007 still as being on the schedule to depart at 0900 and arrive at 1632. After breakfast I headed to the office and more or less stared at the Outlook Public Folder that houses all flight movement messages, just waiting for the cancellation message to come in. By 9:30 it still hadn’t come, but neither had the departure message. Finally, just before we were to head to a 10:00 meeting the message arrived that KZM-007 was in the air, en route to McMurdo, with 27 passengers aboard.

I literally almost started weeping tears of joy at the news. However, in the back of my mind I knew not to get too hopeful, as roughly 25% of all southbound flights will boomerang back to CHC even after departure. The Point of Safe Return (PSR) was listed as 1:37pm. It is now 3:00pm and no word yet either way, so I’m assuming they’re still in the air, and should arrive in about 90 minutes.

If they do, and if the solar storms don’t flare up again, we should be on our way off this continent tomorrow morning sometime. We’re manifested for the 7:30pm bag drag tonight – that’s where we bring all of our luggage up to the Movement Control Center (MCC) to get weighed and loaded onto cargo palettes. Once we bag drag we have just the clothes on our backs and one carry-on bag of ECW gear. Therefore, if we bag drag, and get bumped again, it’s going to be that much worse since we’ll be without most of our stuff.

However, I’m highly optimistic now. I just got off the phone with Sara and we both expressed how the worst part is not knowing anything. Even if I do get out of here tomorrow there’s the unknown about getting out of Christchurch. We heard today that there are a total of 5 seats available all next week on flights from Auckland to Los Angeles. However, there are 98 people manifested for the two flights north to Christchurch tomorrow. I’m praying that those 5 seats are after Raytheon has blocked off some for us.

Finally, I was just reading some of my boss’ blog, and thought he did a good job describing what the Condition 1 storm was like. I didn’t really describe what it was like other than the visibility factor. Here’s what he wrote, reprinted without permission:

Very quickly people, buildings, and vehicles disappear from sight in the blowing snow; this happens often within yards of where you stand. There is no difference between the sky and the ground, it's a matter of "zero horizon" - everything is simply white. The snow is being driven horizontally by winds gusting in excess of 50 knots; within seconds your clothes are completely soaked by the snow. It covers your entire body in a layer that clings to you.

You actually inhale the snow as you walk toward wherever you're going. The hood of your parka eliminates your peripheral vision and limits your view to a narrow slit just in front of you. Conversation is difficult, even with someone walking right next to you; with the exception of the occasional exclamation or expletive, you generally walk in silence. It's a constant effort to walk, leaning over and driving yourself against the wind which constantly seems to be trying to knock you down; upon arriving at your destination you are breathing hard. Every seam in your clothing has had snow driven into it, and looks like white lines.

Finding a path through the snow can also be challenging; the ground is a swirling patch of white that seems to have constant depth, but one step is ankle-deep in the snow, and the next is into a drift up to your knee. The instinct to turn your back to the wind is quickly abandoned once tried; it's harder to turn back into the wind to find your next few steps so you simply keep your head down. Snow melts against the exposed parts of your face and drips down your neck. Your sunglasses are covered in snow, and your gloves are completely soaked through to your fingers.